Recovery
by nerdybookworm
Summary: PostHBP. On the hunt for Horcruxes, Harry is severely injured. How does the trio handle it? In three parts: the third and final chapter, Ron, posted!
1. Harry

**A/N:** Many thanks to padfootsgirl1981, who graciously agreed to beta this for me.

**Recovery**

"Harry, come on, mate. Wake up."

"Harry, please please please be alright."

As Harry Potter became aware of his surroundings, the first sensation he felt was someone's hand lightly tapping his face. A second later, however, Harry's mind was consumed by the burning pain raging in his head and on his back, chest, and arms.

He must have unconsciously made a noise, because he heard two sighs of relief and gradually snatches of a conversation.

"Thank God he's alright, I was so scared that -"

"Yeah, I don't know who would've wrung my neck first, Mum or Ginny," someone shakily laughed.

"Ron, we need to clean him up and try to heal him -"

"You go get the bandages and potions and I'll try to clean him up -"

"_Wingardium Leviosa_."

After a few moments of weightlessness, Harry noticed he was on a soft surface, much better than the cold, hard surface he had been on previously.

"Sod it, there's so much blood - damn, I forgot to put a towel down…"

Suddenly panic hit Harry like a freight train. _Where was he? What was going on?_ "Rhn."

"Harry! Mate, can't tell you how glad I am to hear your voice. Just stay calm, Hermione's bringing you a pain potion. I'm going to clean you up, alright?"

Apparently Ron wasn't waiting for Harry's nod to go ahead, because he immediately felt the cool, gentle rush of water flowing onto his body, contrasting sharply with the fiery pain underneath his skin.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron murmured, "all this for one bloody Horcrux? What's going to happen to you when V – You-Know-Who…"

Disoriented by the pain and scared of the unspoken thoughts Ron didn't voice, Harry fell back into the bleak darkness crowding the edges of his mind.

* * *

"Harry? I need you to drink this." He felt the brim of a cup pressed to his lips. Irrationally, his mind recalled the memory of himself force-feeding Professor Dumbledore the green potion, and he could not dissociate the past from the present. He heard screaming, and the pain intensified as he kicked, flung his arms out, did anything he could not to drink the potion that would surely make him die as Dumbledore had.

"Harry!"

"Harry, you're safe! This isn't a nightmare, you aren't in the cave!"

"Harry! Oh, fine then… _petrificus totalus!_"

Frozen, bound, and blinded by pain, Harry's panic only intensified. He could feel hot tears rolling down his face, the salt burning in his wounds.

There was silence. Then a trembling voice - a girl's voice - spoke.

"Okay, Harry, I swear this is a healing potion, it's not going to harm you. I'm going to relax your face, and I need you to drink this."

Harry didn't, couldn't believe her. Deep down, he knew that it was Hermione Granger, one of his best friends and the smartest witch to ever walk this green earth, who would never hurt him. _But what if she was wrong?_ You didn't know whether something was good or bad until it was too late. He had to convince her. So the moment he felt the spell lift, he began to scream. He had to let her know.

"No! Noooo…. nonononononononono don't make me H'mione stop please no…."

"I'm sorry, Harry." Hermione's voice was laced with tears. "Ron. Help me."

Harry felt strong fingers pry his clenched jaw open, the cup pressed to his lips, and the cool potion enter his mouth. He tried not to swallow, but he was too weak, he couldn't breathe.

After he swallowed it, there was no immediate effect. It became hard to breathe, the anxiety and fear at the forefront of his mind, pressing against the unceasing pain. He couldn't draw breath; his lungs wouldn't let him anymore.

"Harry, breathe! Breathe deep, come on, I'm not going to lose you to a panic attack after all of this!"

"_Finite Incantantum._"

Suddenly, Harry felt his newly-freed body grasped from behind and pulled into a semi-sitting position, leaning on someone.

"Okay, Harry, breathe with me."

Harry could feel the person behind him breathing deeply, taking exaggerated breaths. "Come on – in, out. In, out." The boy – _no, wait, that was a man's_ _voice_ - intoned.

Grasping the bedclothes underneath him tightly, Harry tried to regulate his breathing, until finally, blessedly, the pain diminished to a dull ache spread throughout his entire body. He sagged in relief, and Ron got up, gently laying him back down.

"That's it, Harry. Can you open your eyes?" Someone, presumably Hermione, was stroking his brow with a damp cloth.

Blearily, Harry opened his eyes and licked his parched lips. They tasted of blood.

He was on his camp bed, the lantern on his makeshift bedside table the only light illuminating the old, abandoned barn. Hermione and Ron were on either side of him, both blood-spattered, the expressions on their faces that of mixed worry and relief at the same time. As he squinted, Harry noticed something gold, sparkling on the floor. His mind racing, he suddenly remembered everything. He had found the Horcrux, Hufflepuff's cup… and then they had tried to destroy it. Or rather, he had tried to. He had refused to do anything until Ron and Hermione were at a safe distance.

"Okay, Harry," Hermione said briskly, pushing his glasses into his hand. "That potion won't last very long, the only other one we have right now is also for deep sleep, and I wanted to save it until after we found out what was wrong with you. You just relax, and Ron and I will finish cleaning you off and healing all of these cuts."

Cuts, indeed. Harry's bare chest and arms were covered in deep cuts of differing lengths, oozing a mixture of blood and a strange, disgusting greenish pus. From the way his back, face, and legs hurt, Harry figured that the cuts covered the large majority of his body.

Harry laid there on the cot and closed his eyes, trying to relax as Ron and Hermione gently cleaned his wounded body, the water running off onto the transfigured plastic sheets covering his mattress and the floor around his bed. He didn't pay much attention to their murmurs until he heard "… I can't get the cuts to heal."

"Er, what?" Ron asked worriedly.

"That's what that green pus must be then, poison that won't let you heal," Hermione said, her head bent, examining Harry's right arm thoughtfully, apparently murmuring more to herself than anyone else. She sat up. "Until morning we'll just bandage you up, Harry. At dawn I'll apparate to the village apothecary, and try to find an antidote. Don't worry, you aren't bleeding that much, and I've read that poisons that are meant to stop a wound from healing are never fatal unless left for a long time. You should be fine." Hermione tried to smile reassuringly, but her face was drawn and worried.

"I'll go get the other potion," Ron said, rising slowly from his chair; his face pale.

"Okay," Hermione replied, conjuring a long piece of cloth and a roll of bandages, as Ron came back, setting a vial of pale blue potion on the rickety bedside table. He helped Harry sit up, and Hermione carefully wrapped the cloth around Harry's torso tightly. Along with Ron, she continued to wrap Harry's cuts in bandages, sealing them magically so that they would stay.

"_Engorgio."_ Hermione articulated with a swish of her wand. The spell caused the tiny bed to expand until it was large enough to fit three fully grown people. With another flick, the bed was befitted with sheets identical to the ones in Gryffindor Tower.

"What the -"

"Don't argue, Harry," Hermione snapped. She suddenly looked fierce. "You're ill, and you need to stay warm. A Heating Charm won't last all night. I won't have you die after -" She broke off, her mouth twitching as though she wanted to cry. "Go ahead and take that potion. Ron, what are you waiting for?"

Ron had been standing off to the side, silently watching Harry and Hermione. He looked startled for a moment, and then sighed. "Alright then, but just as long as both of you know I'm not some kind of poof or anything. Joking! I'm joking!" he added weakly as Hermione glared at him and opened her mouth.

Switching from irritated to clearly amused in an instant, Hermione grinned. "Don't worry Ron; you squashed any rumors last term when you and Lavender flailed around Gryffindor Tower -"

"- Like a couple of eels." Harry finished with a small smile as he uncorked the blue potion. He swallowed it quickly, immediately relaxing as he felt every ache and pain disappear. He soon found himself suddenly sleepy, as well.

"Goodnight, Harry." Hermione leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. She removed his glasses and slipped under the covers next to him. With a flick of her wand, the lantern's fading light went out, leaving them in pitch black darkness.

As Harry felt the potion pulling him into slumber, he felt the bed sink on his other side as Ron climbed in, mumbling under his breath. And even though he was still concerned about the Horcrux – _had he truly destroyed it?_ – and the poison coursing through his veins, not to mention the remaining Horcruxes and subsequential battle with Voldemort, he couldn't help but feel safe and content in between his two best friends. With them, he would never be alone.

* * *

**A/N:** The scene where Ron helps Harry breathe is shamelessly borrowed from the movie 'Signs', directed by M. Night Shyamalan.

Please review!


	2. Hermione

**A/N:** Beta read by the wonderful padfootsgirl1981. Sorry this took so long to update; between Hermione not knowing what to do in Diagon Alley and padfootgirl1981's home Internet connection crashing (can Internet connections crash...? oh well), this chapter debuted a little later than expected.

**Recovery – Hermione**

Hermione Granger was unpleasantly awoken by the harsh sounds of a Muggle alarm clock. She really did not want to get up; she was warm and rather sleepy, having had such a horrible, frightening experience the day before.

Fully awake now, she reached over and slapped the off button, hoping the alarm had not woken Ron. She knew that Harry would still be sound asleep; that pain potion was reputed to have knocked out a giant for hours. Sure enough, he was still out like a light, his body straight as a board and face pulled into a slight frown.

Ron, on the other hand, was sprawled out as wide as he could go on the queen-sized bed, blinking at her blearily on Harry's other side.

"Good morning, Ron."

"G' morning, H'mione," he yawned.

Bracing herself for the cold February morning air, Hermione pushed off the layers of blankets and stood up, stretching her tired limbs. She knew she looked a fright; for months now she had been past caring about her frizzy brown locks or what clothes she wore or even slept in, especially as the trio followed good – and bad – leads and came closer and closer to the location of Helga Hufflepuff's engraved gold cup. She was still wearing one of Ron's old jumpers, a pair of blood-splattered jeans, and to her amusement, yesterday's shoes. She cast the appropriate cleansing charms and sighed contentedly as she breathed in the scent of her favorite citrus shampoo.

"I'm off to the apothecary, Ron. Go back to sleep, I'll take the Invisibility Cloak." Ron murmured something unintelligible and turned over, his snores reverberating throughout the abandoned tin barn they had made their current safe-house. They had found it in September, sitting on a moor in Northern Scotland, the nearest sign of civilization fifteen kilometers away. It was perfect; Auchininna had a small wizarding community, so they were able to sneak into town and hear the latest news. The boys had put several protective wards on the shelter in order to keep them safe from nosy trespassers; Bill Weasley had taught them loads before the trio had left, for good, in August.

After an apple for breakfast, Hermione gathered Harry's Invisibility Cloak and their moneybag together, sneaking across the barn quietly. Before she left, she checked on Harry's current condition. He still felt feverish, and his breathing was just a little too shallow for her liking. Underneath his bandages, the slashes across his body were still bleeding, though thankfully, not profusely.

Hermione had never liked to admit her weaknesses, but she was scared. Terrified. She had no idea what kind of poison could be coursing through Harry's veins – in fact, she didn't even know if it was a poison for sure – _what if it was a curse?_ She was afraid she wouldn't be able to find a cure in time to help Harry – she had fibbed slightly when she had told him that poisons that wouldn't allow flesh wounds to heal were never fatal. There were several ones – obscure ones – that could kill. She prayed to God that none of those were flowing through her best friend's bloodstream.

A part of her could not help but wonder if maybe Harry would not have been quite as bad off as he was if he had been taking care of himself. Obviously, he had no control over what effects the potion had on him, but maybe he wouldn't have succumbed to the hallucinations as quickly, if at all.

Ever since the three of them had reunited at the Burrow and began researching the mysterious R.A.B. and the unknown Horcruxes, Harry had been constantly tense and worried. He had thrown himself into the research, and while Hermione normally would have been pleased that Harry was taking this so seriously, she knew he was taking it too far. He hadn't been eating or sleeping well, and as a result he was pale and skinnier than ever. His weight loss, along with yet another huge growth spurt, had left him looking almost skeletal.

When he wasn't brooding and quiet, he was often frustrated and angry about the lack of progress they had made. Even as they had got closer and closer to finding the cup, he had been extremely anxious, to the point of making himself ill on occasion. Hermione had tried to talk to him, but her 'nagging' had only made him even more upset and irrational. Now that they had destroyed the cup, maybe they could relax at the Burrow for a few days. Maybe she could even see her parents.

Hermione shivered as she quietly closed the barn door behind her and pulled both her heavy woolen cloak and the Invisibility Cloak tighter around her. She trudged across the snow-covered ground, and once she passed through the wards, she Disapparated with a sharp 'pop'.

* * *

Hours later, Hermione found herself in Diagon Alley, disguised with limp, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. She had so far been unsuccessful at the apothecary shops in both Auchininna and Hogsmeade – the grizzled old woman in Hogsmeade had only been able to tell her that it most likely was a poison, not a curse – and she was hoping that if the apothecary here could not help her, they would firecall Knockturn Alley. She had a feeling that they would be more helpful, especially if – and it probably was - the poison was obscure and Dark.

A bell dinged brightly as she pushed open the door to the apothecary's shop, sounding out of place in the tense silence that pervaded both the store and the deserted street outside. The store was empty as well, but for the balding, portly man who was sitting behind the counter with a gloomy look on his face. Once he saw her, however, he bounded to his feet and rushed over to her, smiling.

"'Ello lassie, wot can I getcha today?"

Hermione grinned nervously at the man and gripped her wand tighter inside the folds of her cloak. She had no idea whether the man was friend or foe, and besides that, she knew that asking about an obscure, and most likely dark poison, would probably bring suspicion onto herself.

"Hello. Um, I actually just have a question for you. I can't tell you why, but a friend of mine was injured recently, he's very ill, and I have no idea what's wrong with him, or how to heal him. I was hoping you could help me."

"Well then, let's just step up to me counter, an' I'll see if I can 'elp you," the shopkeeper said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Wot are the symptoms?"

"High fever, hallucinations, shallow breathing, and -" Hermione hesitated, " – a greenish pus that is leaking out of the numerous, and still bleeding cuts that he has across his body."

"Great Scott!" the apothecary spluttered, "that sounds right Dark, that does. Wot's a pretty girl like you doin' wit' Dark Magic?"

Hermione steeled herself, withdrawing her wand and praying that her hand would be steady. "Sir, I can't tell you that. But please tell me everything you know, I won't hurt you."

The apothecary stared at her, stunned, for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Alright, lass, just don't 'urt me, I've gotta wife and three kiddies at home." He turned around and pulled two thick books off the shelf behind him, shoving one, entitled _Obscure Poisons and Curses I Shouldn't Even Be Telling You About_ at her. "Look in the index, an' if you can't find it then leave, the quicker I wash me hands of you, the better."

They had passed the next twenty minutes in uninterrupted silence, poring over the massive indexes of their respective books, occasionally flicking back through the book on a lead, when Hermione let out a shout of triumph. _"Promiscus inficio is an obscure, Dark poison comprised of several snake venoms, the most dangerous – and subsequently the main ingredient – of which is the venom of the boomslang snake!"_ she read aloud excitedly. _"The most common side effects include high fever, delusions and/or hallucinations, and a greenish discharge (mixed with blood) that oozes from any and all lacerations, cuts, and openings in the bloodstream, and hours prior to death, from the body's orifices,"_ Hermione continued, her voice slowly tapering down to a more sober tone. _"Only an antidote made from boomslang skin, blood of a demiguise, and the nonpoisonous venom of a Painted Bronzeback Snake (common in Southeast Asia) can reverse the victim's fate of a certain and painful death."_ She looked up at the apothecary, who was gazing at her with a slightly horrified look on his face. "Can you help me?" she asked urgently.

"I – I don't even know where to start, lass. I sell boomslang skin, of course, an' you're lucky I've got a bit of that demiguise blood 'ere in the back, but you've gotta go to Knockturn Alley for the venom. I'll not carry that. Though it's not poisonous, it's too potent an' volatile, that stuff is."

"Could you possibly firecall -"

"Are you bleeding crazy, girl? The apothecary – if you can really call it that – in Knockturn Alley's run by a mad old witch that'll try to take your own blood for 'er own personal use! No, I'll not be talkin' to 'er. You'll have to go talk to 'er yourself," the old man snapped. "Now be off with you."

"Okay," Hermione said calmly. Then, just as she had done in both Auchininna and Hogsmeade, Hermione raised her wand. _"Obliviate!" _

The short man's countenance immediately changed from angry to peaceful. "Well, 'ello there, lass! Wot can I do for you today?" he asked placidly.

"I need -" Hermione looked at the book again – "one kilogram of boomslang skin, and a vial of demiguise blood."

"Bit of an unusual selection. You're lucky I've still gotta little demiguise blood left back here in me storage room." The apothecary disappeared into a back room, returning shortly with a small bag and a large flask. "'ere you go, lass. That'll be one Galleon and four Sickles."

After paying for the ingredients, Hermione slipped them, as well as the book, into the inner pockets of her cloak, pulled up the hood, and exited the shop, ignoring the apothecary's befuddled "Now, where's me book got to?"

Hermione stood in the empty street for a moment, unsure of what to do. Suddenly she darted into a nearby alleyway, quickly pulling Harry's Invisibility Cloak over her head. Molly Weasley and Fleur were hurriedly walking down the street, clutching their wands and looking alert. Hermione watched them disappear into Gringotts, a sharp pain in her chest, before she turned around and headed into Knockturn Alley. The difference between the two alleys was distinct. The air was heavier there, and had a musty, foul odor.

Luckily, the apothecary was not too far in. When she pushed the door open this time, a faint clatter could be heard from the back of the shop. Closing the door behind her quietly, Hermione made her way to the adjacent wall, where a sign read _Poisons and their antidotes_ in curling black letters. Jars and bottles lined several shelves, most filled with dark, murky solutions in varying colors.

"How can I help ye, missy?"

Hermione started, cursing herself for not being more careful. A wizened, tiny old woman had appeared right beside her. While she was sure that the Diagon Alley apothecary's dire warning was mere fable – a rumor – she couldn't be sure that the old witch meant well. "I – I just need the venom of a Painted Bronzeback Snake."

"Just Painted Bronzeback Snake venom? That's it? Sweet, I've got far more interesting venoms and poisons. They can do whatever you fancy… they can make your victim go mad, cry blood, eat the flesh off of their own bodies, die in the most painful and fascinating fashions -"

"Thanks, but I just need this particular venom," Hermione interrupted hastily.

"Well, alright then," the aged woman croaked, sounding disappointed. "I'll ring you up at the counter." She picked up a flask of grayish white fluid and headed over to the counter, motioning for Hermione to follow her. "That'll be five Galleons."

Hermione frowned as she dug into her pocket. The price was high, and normally she would have haggled, but she was running out of time. She also wanted to leave Knockturn Alley as soon as possible.

At last, she pulled out five of the huge coins, holding them out for the woman to take. Instead of grabbing the money, however, the witch's hand latched onto Hermione's forearm, her long, yellow fingernails digging into the soft skin, making Hermione gasp.

"Such soft, supple flesh," the old hag whispered, gazing at Hermione's arm in wonder. Her nails finally cut into Hermione's skin, causing tiny rivulets of blood to trickle down her arm. "Look at the blood… bright, beautiful red… so pure, so flawless…"

Hermione stared in horror at the ancient witch's face. Her skin looked like paper that had been crumpled into a tiny ball and spread back out. Whipping out her wand, Hermione pointed it in the witch's face. "Let me go," she bit out.

Staring at Hermione's wand warily, the old woman slowly let go of Hermione's arm and took the money, still in her hand. Slapping the flask of venom onto Hermione's palm, the hag abruptly turned around and left the room.

Breathing heavily, Hermione stumbled to the door, pulling the Invisibility Cloak around her as she went. Once outside, breathing in the putrid air, she flicked her wand and Disapparated with a sharp 'pop'.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm in the middle of writing the third chapter (Ron's point of view), and I've already written a miniature monster of an epilogue/sequel of sorts from Ginny's point of view. Woot.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, they make my day. :-)


	3. Ron

**A/N: **A multitude of thanks goes to my amazing beta, padfootsgirl1981, for getting this back to me so quickly. I'd also like to thank my lone reviewer here, Gioia; your reviews made me feel honored and all warm and fuzzy inside. :)

Without further ado, the final chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Ron**

With a dramatic huff, Ron Weasley threw himself into the rickety, wooden chair next to the enormous bed, in which his best mate was still in a potion-induced sleep. He really did not want to sit down; that was all he had been doing all day, keeping vigil over Harry and waiting impatiently for Hermione to return. When she finally had, they had promptly had a blazing row, and now she was as far away from him as possible, flipping through the pages of a gigantic book near the opposite wall.

Heaving a sigh, Ron turned away and watched as the sun made its slow descent through the dusky purple sky. He was not going to admit it to Hermione, but he had been itching for an argument – something – all day. Anything to stop the horrible thoughts and fears threatening to overwhelm him, anything that would make him feel something other than the worry and concern that had consumed him these past two days – hell, the past six months – anything to shatter the horror of wondering whether or not your best friend would survive this damn war. Or even wake up.

Then, after hours of waiting and waiting, his distraction had arrived in the shape of a frazzled, blonde-haired Hermione. She had evidently run into trouble while out and about. Breathing heavily and obviously distracted, she had successfully deflected all of Ron's questions – until he saw the bloody, crescent-shaped marks on her forearm. She had then broken down and confessed that she had visited the apothecary in Knockturn Alley.

"_Something happened, dammit. Now tell me what the hell happened, Hermione."_

"_Nothing, Ron. Everything's fine. Let's get started on this potion." Hermione pushed up her sleeves and Ron immediately noticed the drying blood on her right arm. Ignoring her squeals of protest, he reached forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm up so he could see better. _

"_Who the hell did this to your arm?"_

A brand new rush of anger flooded through Ron at the thought. The damn girl was the smartest, brightest witch he knew, and yet somehow she had found it acceptable to waltz unescorted into Knockturn Alley – which was extremely dangerous and sketchy during peacetime, let alone during a bloody war. Ron would even have felt better if Hermione had somehow found Percy and roped him into going with her. He felt like running into that shifty apothecary shop and hexing that old hag to Europa.

After their heated words, the two had gone their separate ways, each person letting the other stew in the silence, which was only broken by the sounds of pages being turned feverishly across the spacious barn.

Ron was contemplating what he wanted to heat up for supper, when a low moan dragged him out of his thoughts. He looked down at Harry hopefully, and sure enough, his best friend was shifting slightly, a look of intense pain on his unguarded face.

"Hermione, he's awake!" Ron called across the shelter, where Hermione was fiddling around with a cauldron and something that smelled rather rank. He looked back down at Harry, who still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Harry! You're just in time for supper," Ron said, chuckling awkwardly. He did not really know what to say to someone injured and in pain. "D'you need -" Ron broke off. _What did his mother used to ask him when he was ill, so many years ago?_ Hermione was so much better at this kind of thing. "D'you need… water? Your glasses?"

He watched as Harry's eyes slowly fluttered open and then quickly closed. "Too bright," Harry mumbled.

Ron quickly doused the lamp and various lanterns that surrounded them, dimming the light in the expansive room considerably. Harry slowly reopened his eyes.

"Harry?" Hermione had whisked over out of nowhere, with a glass of water already in her hand. "How're you feeling?" she asked him worriedly, slipping his glasses on his face for him.

Ron watched in half amusement, half concern as Harry finally focused in on Hermione, yelped, and scrabbled for his wand on the make-shift bedside table.

"Harry! Sorry, it's me, Hermione," she squeaked. Brandishing her own wand, she wordlessly canceled the Concealing Charms. "Sorry," she repeated, blushing slightly.

"It's okay," Harry replied roughly. He laid his wand back down. "God, for a moment I thought you were Aunt Petunia." His hands were shaking slightly.

Moments later, Hermione was still apologizing profusely (until Harry told her to 'shut it'), and fussing with the bandages that covered a fair amount of Harry's body. She did not seem to need any help – or want it, so Ron decided to make dinner for everyone instead. After crossing the barn and fishing out some meat for sandwiches and a can of beef broth for Harry, he set to work.

* * *

An hour later, only crumbs remained from Ron's and Hermione's sandwiches, and Harry was nodding off again after having drunk half of the broth Ron had prepared, as well as a Fever-Reducing Potion. Hermione was back in her corner, once again absorbed in the potion that was bubbling away in her cauldron. Ron was about to go join her (she seemed to have forgiven him for their argument, after he had made her a bologna sandwich just how she liked it: two slices of meat, and the crusts cut off) when Harry gasped and sat up quickly. 

"Ron! The Horcrux, did I destroy it? Where's – do we still have it?"

Startled, Ron reached over and plucked Helga Hufflepuff's golden cup, which was split clean down the middle on one side, off of the nightstand. "It's right here, mate, and there's no way you could not have destroyed it. If you went through that hell without destroying the damn thing, then…"

A flash of relief flitted across Harry's face before he closed off again, his face betraying no emotion. "Good," he said tightly, lying back down. He was asleep in minutes.

Sighing, Ron fiddled with the cup, turning it over in his hands, minding the sharp edges. It was hard to believe that it was only yesterday they had Apparated to Little Hangleton – the Riddle house. It was clichéd, but he knew he would never forget last night.

They had gone there on a whim. After they had destroyed Slytherin's locket (with minimal injuries, luckily – apparently R.A.B. – Regulus Black – had removed the final devastating curse on it), it had been nothing but research, dead ends, and false clues. Even Christmas had been spent looking for the orphanage Tom Riddle had grown up in; it had been torn down three years ago, a seedy pub rebuilt in its place.

The previous evening – a Tuesday – Ron and Hermione had been researching in the candlelight, occasionally bringing up something new in their book, Hermione whispering her concerns about Harry as he brooded on his bed, paced around the shed, and went on spontaneous walks outside, all the while muttering to himself, a deep frown on his face. After another of his outdoor walks, Harry had suddenly burst through the door, shouting.

"_The Riddle House! We have to go to Little Hangleton! One of the Horcruxes – Voldemort could've been desperate – left it there when Wormtail and him were there fourth year -"_

"_Harry," Hermione had interrupted calmly, "Voldemort wouldn't leave a Horcrux in the Riddle House, mere blocks from the Gaunts' place, where he had put the ring. He's not that stupid."_

_Harry had impatiently waved his arms. "Not if one of his planned locations hadn't worked out. Look, Voldemort had wanted to teach at Hogwarts, right? But both Dippet and Dumbledore had rejected him, and Hogwarts was the place where he learned he was special – the place he called home – not to mention his obsession with the founders, so naturally he would want to keep a Horcrux there, but he couldn't ensure it would be safe there, without being there to keep students away – so after Wormtail found him and they created a temporary body for him, he told Wormtail – someone – where he had kept it before, and they brought it to him, where he could make certain it would be okay," he said in a rush, ignoring Hermione's interjections, his voice getting louder and louder in his excitement._

"_Harry -"_

"_No, Hermione, I know this – this isn't like fifth year. I can't explain it, but I know one of them is there. A Horcrux." Harry had interrupted. "We have to go there, now."_

"_What?" Ron and Hermione had cried in unison. _

"_Now?" Hermione had asked in horror. "Harry, it's pitch black outside – the moon's not even out – and it's probably ten degrees outside. Besides, what if someone's already there? You've been to Little Hangleton, you know that even in daylight it would be hard to protect ourselves – no trees, hardly any buildings on the edge of town. Harry, Voldemort tortured you in that graveyard in front of a crowd of people. Maybe he had set up wards or Muggle Repelling Charms, but Harry, if they couldn't hear then, they won't now."_

"_This is perfect timing – no one's going to be around – not that they would be anyway – and if anyone's there guarding the place, then we can take them by surprise." Harry had replied, cheeks red and eyes downcast, apparently ignoring Hermione's mention of the cemetery. _

_Ron cleared his throat. He was not really sure who to side with – Harry was acting like he was off his rocker, but he could not help but feel that Harry could be trusted on this. "I – I reckon we should just go ahead and check it out. Maybe V-V-Voldemort left a Horcrux there, maybe he didn't. It won't hurt to make sure."_

After Hermione had relented, the trio had tried to dress as warmly as possible with what they had, while still trying to make sure they could move freely, in case of a confrontation. Harry had then Side-Along Apparated Ron to Little Hangleton, then went back and followed with Hermione.

_They were standing in the middle of an old cemetery, surrounded by crumbling gravestones and monuments. Looking over to their right, Ron saw the name 'Tom Riddle' engraved on a tall, ornate grave marker. Shivering slightly, he turned back around. Harry's face was pale and ghostly in the light from Hermione's wand as he stared numbly at the gravestone that represented the horrible night that had changed his life. _

"_Harry," Hermione had said quietly. "We should probably get going."_

_Harry faced them again. "No, you two aren't coming with me. I need to do this alone. Don't get too close to the house – I don't know what protections Voldemort's used here, and I don't want either of you getting hurt -"_

"_What about you, Harry?" Hermione had whispered furiously._

"_- and if I'm not back in forty-five minutes, come looking for me. I'll send up red sparks if I need backup." Harry had continued._

_After arguing with him for a good ten minutes, Ron and Hermione had finally acquiesced. Harry had stood there for a moment, gazing at them. Ron had not known what was going through his best friend's mind, but his eyes had betrayed his fear and worry. _

"_I – thank you," Harry had said quietly before turning around. He had been quickly swallowed by the surrounding darkness._

_Ron and Hermione stood there, speechless. Suddenly the light from Hermione's wand went out._

"_What happened?" Ron had whispered._

"_We'll be able to see everything once our eyes have got used to the dark," Hermione had replied, her voice trembling slightly._

The two of them had stuck together, silently keeping watch for any red or green flashes in the distance. After minutes they vacated the cemetery; besides being eerie in and of itself, the knowledge that You-Know-Who (_Lord Voldemort, _Ron had reminded himself) had regained his body and tortured their best friend there brought back horrible memories – and they had not even been in the graveyard. Instead they followed the general direction that Harry had disappeared, wands out and eyes watchful for foe.

The minutes had dragged by with agonizing length; when a fiery cloud illuminated the old mansion at the top of the hill, then engulfed it, Ron had almost been glad of it; then he remembered that Harry had been in there. Ignoring the heat and rush of wind from the explosion, Ron had grabbed Hermione by the hand and ran for the Riddle house as fast as he could.

And here they were.

* * *

The rest of the evening and the next two days passed in a manner similar to that of the day before; Harry slept, with intermittent awakenings, while Hermione brewed the antidote – the book Hermione had nicked (which Ron still couldn't believe she had done) said that it was to take three days, and Ron did whatever was needed around the shelter: helped Hermione, tidied up, prepared meals, and watched over Harry. He felt absolutely useless. 

Friday evening found Ron and Hermione eagerly completing the final instructions for the potion. Ron was perusing the book, ensuring that nothing had been missed or left out, while Hermione stirred the bubbling draught.

"I saw your mum the other day."

"What?" Ron asked, surprised that Hermione had not already shared this information. "Where?"

"In Diagon Alley, of course. She was with Fleur. They didn't see me; I watched them go into Gringotts. Don't worry, they're fine." Hermione added.

Ron was silent as he thought about his family. God, how he missed them. He had not seen them since summer. He missed everyone – his father and his calm, reassuring presence; his courage and unwillingness to back down and let others run over him. His mum, and her obvious love for them, shown through the small things, like folded laundry and made beds; and large things, like her hugs that squeezed the very breath from your lungs. His brothers – Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George, for their advice and camaraderie; he even missed Fred and George's teasing. Hell, he even missed Percy, the sodding know-it-all. He missed Ginny too; his best friend growing up, who stuck with him through their older brothers' teasing, who told it like it was, who left him a good luck card on his pillow the first day of O.W.L testing fifth year. He missed the Burrow, and everything it represented.

"You know, we should go home soon." Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts, voicing exactly what he had been thinking.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, we really should. We haven't been home since what, August? I can see my family, you can visit your parents, and Harry could probably use the break and visit with everyone, too. When were you thinking of going?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Actually, I was thinking tomorrow. I don't think we will be noticed by anyone, everyone's still trying to find the source of that explosion. I think a proper bed and seeing everyone will help Harry, too."

They completed the antidote in silence. When it was ready, Ron prodded Harry awake; he sleepily drank a cupful and promptly fell back asleep. Looking up, Ron caught Hermione's eye. Her warm brown eyes showed her worry and fear, but for the first time in months Ron saw a glimmer of real happiness in the depths.

They were going home.

* * *

**A/N: **It's finished! I'm so excited; I really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. I've just sent the sequel/epilogue to the beta; I'd look for it within the next week or so, she's amazingly quick. It will not be the fourth chapter of this story; it'll be separate, because I think it can be read on its own. Woot. 

Oh yeah, and Tinturn Parva is a real town in Wales? Scotland? I've gotten my locations messed up, you'll have to forgive me. I have midterms this week before Spring Break. Eek!

You wouldn't even believe how happy reviews make me, good or bad. :-)


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